The horror was always there, festering and growing, creeping into every corner of her being, invading her heart, her very soul. That same horror was here, here, in this room, in Maria Hinson’s domain. Hidden away in everyday things, it was a horror too much like her own, yet nothing like it. Two sides of the moon, dark and light, black and white, right and wrong… a perfect opposite, the same. The same!
Coming deeper into the room, Cathy visibly shuddered. Yes, it was here. It was here. And the essence of evil was so strong she could taste it. She was trembling now, wanting to run, desperate to stay. She was in a state of terror. Conversely, she was comforted by the instinctive knowledge that she was no longer alone. The old lady was here. Giving her strength – ‘Fight it’… ‘Trust in God.’ She understood now. Yet that understanding only created more questions, a deeper intrigue.
‘Surely you’re not cold?’ Emily had gone to the bedside cabinet, where she opened a drawer and withdrew what looked to be a piece of newspaper. When she glanced up to see Cathy shivering, hugging herself, she went to the window and dropped it shut. ‘The sun doesn’t get round here until later in the day,’ she explained. ‘I’m one of those lucky people who don’t easily feel the cold.’ Casting a puzzled look in Cathy’s direction, she said, ‘I found this when I was turning Maria’s mattress. She wouldn’t let me do it before. In all the years we’ve been together, ever since my parents died and she took me in, I’ve never known her to be so secretive. We’ve never deliberately kept things from each other. Until now.’ There was a sadness in her voice, and disbelief.
After handing the piece of paper to Cathy, she went on talking, describing in detail the recent uncharacteristic behaviour of Maria. Carefully observing Cathy’s reaction to the item she had found, Emily went on. ‘I knew she was hiding something… keeping things to herself. And I’ve had the feeling for some time that she was desperately worried, but she wouldn’t confide in me. These past few weeks she’s been sleeping badly, crying out, suffering terrible nightmares. Oh, I know she’s very old, and I know I tend to be over-protective towards her, but she wasn’t ill. Not physically ill. She had these moods, you see, awful bouts of depression, like there was something quietly gnawing away at her, but she wouldn’t say. She only told me to stop fussing!’ Now Emily saw how shocked Cathy was, how stunned by what Maria had secreted away and guarded so closely. She went on, ‘Do you see now why I was puzzled when you said you had never known Maria before?’ she asked quietly.
Cathy stared at the item in her hand. It was the newspaper cutting which showed her and Matt on their wedding day. Clutching it tight in her fist, Cathy turned towards Emily, sinking on to the bed, her face uplifted, curious, perplexed. ‘I don’t understand,’ she murmured. ‘Why would Maria Hinson cut out a picture of me and Matt? What could she want with it? And why would she hide it away?… Keep it secret from you?’ Cathy slowly shook her head. ‘I just don’t understand!’
‘You still say you met her for the very first time that day on the embankment? The day the dogs attacked?’
‘Yes! Until that day I had never seen her, never even heard of her.’
Into her mind’s eye came the look on the old lady’s face, the eerie sensation that had passed between them. She had never seen Maria Hinson before, but Maria had seen her, had gone to the trouble of cutting the wedding picture of Matt and her out of the paper. More than that, she had hidden it away, not even told Emily. What did it mean? Why would Maria Hinson do such a thing?
‘I did wonder.’ Emily’s quiet voice permeated Cathy’s deeper thoughts. ‘You see, Maria was widowed. Oh, she never talks about the circumstances of it, although from the bad dreams, when I’ve had occasion to comfort her in the dark hours, I believe she lost her husband in a cruel accident. That was almost a lifetime ago. There were no children. That much she did tell me. And I do know she loved him deeply. It made me wonder about the newspaper cutting of you and your husband on your wedding day, so romantic, the both of you so obviously in love. It might have reminded Maria of what she had lost.’
‘And you think that was why she cut the picture out?’ Cathy was not convinced. In her deepest heart she knew also that Emily was not convinced either. Then, there was the way Maria had looked at her. ‘Fight it,’ she had said. It was as though Maria Hinson had seen the unhappiness in her, knew its cause even!
Cathy sensed the deeper truth here, a mystery which only the old lady could solve. ‘She hid the picture, Emily,’ Cathy reminded the other woman. ‘She hid it from you. Why would she do that?’
Emily shook her head, the frown cutting deeper into her features. ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed, ‘and we can’t ask her. I’m not even sure that we have the right.’
‘I must know!’ It wasn’t just the picture. Cathy saw that as being only part of a greater mystery.
‘Yes, I understand, of course,’ Emily conceded, ‘but not yet. Not until she is well again.’ Her purpose clear, she took the cutting from Cathy, replaced it in the drawer and went to the door, where she waited. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. Like I said, she’s very old, and she lost her own romance a long, long time ago.’
Cathy made no reply. She did not believe it was as simple as Emily imagined. Besides which, she had a lingering suspicion that Emily knew more than she was prepared to reveal. Now, when she followed Emily out of the room and down the stairs, Cathy felt inexplicably drawn back to the old lady’s room, to a certain essence there, a kind of fear. Some strange awareness made her feel as though she belonged, as though she and Maria were part of a greater conspiracy.
‘I’m glad you came to see me, Cathy.’ The two of them were at the front door now, Cathy outside, Emily inside. There was a sense of friendship between them. ‘And you really don’t mind about your father and me?’
‘Of course not,’ Cathy smiled, taking the other woman’s hand in her own. ‘You’ve brought a new purpose back into his life. He really is so much happier for knowing you.’
‘I’m glad.’ Emily’s face blushed pink. ‘I am very fond of him. And he’s so good, helping me about the house, taking me to the hospital and all. He’s even volunteered to be here when I interview the new gardener. The present one is due to retire soon, and I doubt whether we’ll ever get anyone as good. Normally, anything to do with the garden is Maria’s responsibility. She won’t have it any other way. But, I’m afraid it’s up to me now. All I want Maria to do is to concentrate on getting well again, and coming home.’ Her brown eyes were suddenly bright. ‘I do miss her so.’
Lost for words, Cathy mumbled reassuring sentiments and said goodbye. When the door was closed, Emily went quickly back up the stairs and into Maria’s room. Here, she opened the drawer into which she had replaced the newspaper cutting. Dipping her two hands deeper into the recess, she brought out a small red notebook. Sinking on to the bed, she flicked through it, pausing occasionally to read a particular entry, the look of consternation on her face deepening by the minute. ‘I couldn’t show her this. What are you up to, Maria?’ she whispered to the empty room. ‘You’re up to something, Maria. What is it?’
The red notebook was much more disturbing than the wedding picture, for it was like a diary, a detailed and meticulous report on the movements of Matt and Cathy Slater, from the moment they boarded the plane for Australia. The whole of their stay there was recorded, and every day since their homecoming, right up to the day before the horrifying attack on Maria and that poor man. Recounting every move that Matt and Cathy had made, together with a resumé of everyone they had been seen to converse with, and every place they visited, the detailed accounts were the worst invasion of privacy. Emily was shocked. There were details of how Cathy’s mother had deserted her husband and child all those years ago. And it revealed the tragic manner in which both of Matt’s parents had lost their lives. The last piece of information was underlined in red.
For what seemed hours, yet was no more than moments, Emily sat on the edge of the bed, head down, eye
s staring at the book pressed between her hands. The image of Maria rose before her, and it was almost as though she was seeing a stranger. The writing in the book was not of Maria’s hand; Emily was certain of that. It followed, then, that the account of Matt and Cathy’s movements was entered by another. Emily hated herself for thinking it, but she could only conclude that Maria had appointed a private investigator. The idea was preposterous! And yet, what other explanation was there? ‘When? How could you have done this?’ Maria never left the house without Emily, and Emily never left her alone, except for a few hours on a Friday. Friday. But no, it wasn’t possible. If there had been anyone calling in her absence – a man, a private investigator – Sally would have told her. Emily’s first instinct was to go to Sally and question her, but then she remembered. Sally had left her job here, left the area, the very day after Maria and the man were attacked.
There was nothing else for it but to wait until Maria herself was able to explain. And she must explain, for the sake of her long and intimate relationship with the woman she had raised from a child, and who was now so shattered by the discovery she had made that she wondered whether she and Maria would ever be the same again. Oh, she loved the old lady, adored her like the mother she had been, but Emily had always trusted Maria implicitly, without question. She was disillusioned. And afraid. For there were three other entries in the back of the book, all in Maria’s own hand. One related directly to Emily herself. She read it aloud now: ‘ “I long to tell Emily the truth but I dare not. For her own sake, she must never know.”’ Beneath that was an entry in such frantic scrawl that Emily could hardly read it. What she could decipher was as follows:
Through the flames
Eye to eye
Only then…
…will die.
and in brackets beside it: ‘If only I knew what it meant, it might be in my power to ward off all evil.’
On the next page, in large black scrawl were the words, ‘I believed it might be over at long last, but I was wrong. God help him!’
Thankful that she had not disclosed the notebook to Cathy, Emily hid it deep in the drawer. Afterwards, still lost in thought and made uneasy by the things she had read, Emily crossed to the window, where she looked out towards the river. She was astonished to see Cathy on the opposite side of the road, standing beside her car and staring back at the house. Then, while Emily tried unsuccessfully to attact her attention, intending to wave goodbye, Cathy got into the car and drove slowly away.
Some short way along the road, Cathy eased the car to a crawl. In the mirror she could still see the house. She smiled, a secret, murderous smile. There was danger in that house, and there was a part of her! Out there, in the garden. A part of her that was the heart itself, dormant, impatient. ‘Soon,’ she murmured through her smile. ‘Soon now.’ The time was close. She was not altogether free, not yet whole. But it would not be long now. Then her power would be formidable!
‘Where in God’s name have you been?’ Bill Barrington swung round as Cathy came into the kitchen. ‘Matt’s been going crazy!’ He had been making himself a cup of strong coffee, but now he strode across the kitchen to confront her, momentarily shocked by her unhappy, haggard face. ‘For Christ’s sake, Cathy!’ He lowered his voice when she raised her sombre grey eyes to his. ‘What’s going on? What is it between you and Matt?’
‘Where is he?’ she asked in an odd flat voice. Since leaving Maria Hinson’s house earlier, Cathy had driven for many miles, not knowing where she was going, not caring. Eventually she had found her way back to Milton Keynes, where she parked the car outside the vast enclosed shopping centre and wandered round, going from shop to shop, sitting in the tea-room over Boots the chemist’s for almost an hour, until the waitress told her, ‘We’re closing now. You’ll have to leave, I’m afraid.’
From there, Cathy had gone to Willen Lake and walked its perimeter until the day grew cold and thoughts of Matt urged her home. All day long she had pent up her feelings – withering, compelling feelings that made no sense, yet made every sense. Now, the feelings had subsided, leaving her physically and emotionally exhausted. At this moment in time, it would not have mattered to her whether she lived or died; sometimes death was preferable to life. She needed Matt so badly, and yet she could not bear the thought of him near her. She was plagued with guilt, haunted by fear, and always deeply, inexorably suspicious of his every move, his every word.
‘Matt’s out looking for you,’ her father replied, following her across the kitchen. When she sat in the chair, her arms spread out over the table, her eyes looking up at him, childlike and imploring, he seated himself opposite, his thick worn fingers closing over her dainty hands. ‘He rang me just after five… begged me to come over and stay by the phone while he went in search of you. Oh, Cathy, he was almost out of his mind with worry. Where have you been? Twelve hours you’ve been gone! Couldn’t you have gone into a phone booth and told him when you’d be home?’
Before Cathy could reply, the intermittent buzz of the telephone interrupted. Scrambling from the chair, Bill hurried to the dresser and grabbed up the receiver. ‘Slater’s Farm.’ There was a brief pause, when he listened intently, then, ‘It’s all right, Matt. Cathy’s here.’ Another pause, before he replied in a reassuring voice, ‘No, no, she’s fine. She walked in about five minutes ago… no, she didn’t tell me.’ A longer interlude, when Cathy’s father turned to look on her, his attention on what Matt was saying, but his eyes telling him how desperately tired Cathy looked. ‘Okay, Matt. Yes, of course I’ll wait with her. Don’t worry. Just make your way back.’ He put the receiver down, wondering why Matt had not asked to speak to Cathy, nor she to him. He had recently suspected that all was not well between his daughter and Matt. It hurt him to realise now just how serious were their problems. ‘I expect you’d murder for a cuppa?’ he said. When she smiled at him and nodded, he returned to the cupboard and took out a small mug, into which he put a heaped spoonful of coffee granules. Boiling the kettle again, he poured the hot water into both mugs, added milk and sugar, and brought them to the table, where he put one down before her. Easing into the chair, he began sipping the warming liquid, quietly regarding her awhile. ‘Cathy…’ he began.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she interrupted, ‘and you’re wrong. Oh, it’s true we’re going through a bad patch right now, Dad, but,’ she gently tapped his hand and smiled, ‘we’ll work it out, I promise.’ She bitterly regretted her father being aware that all was not well between her and Matt.
Bill slowly nodded his head, his eyes appraising her face, his fears not calmed by her assurances. There was something horribly wrong here, and nothing Cathy said would convince him otherwise. He knew his daughter better than most fathers could know their children. Since Cathy’s mother had deserted them, he had been everything to her… father, mother, friend and confidant. They had always talked things through, shared their troubles, their joys and their ambitions. Suddenly, there was a barrier between them. Cathy’s bright, outgoing personality was markedly changed. These days she was unnaturally quiet, morose and secretive; there was a hardness about her, an unattractive trait that had never been part of her character. In all the years when he had watched her grow from infancy to girlhood, and then into womanhood, he had never seen her look so unhappy, so deeply sad that even now, after she had caused him and Matt such anxiety, he could not be angry with her. ‘Do you believe that, sweetheart… you and Matt can work it out?’
‘I’m sure we can,’ she replied thoughtfully. In her sorry heart she prayed there was a way. Yet she was afraid, sensing that already it was too late. She had lost him. Now there was little purpose in going on. Oh, but yes! There was a purpose. The pain rose in her, suffocating every other sensation. She had nearly forgotten. She must never forget again. However instinctively abhorrent the purpose was, she must not lose sight of it.
‘Are you all right, Cathy?’ Even as he observed her, he saw the change overcome her features, and he was s
hocked.
‘Yes. Of course.’ She pushed the mug of coffee away and rose to her feet. Rounding the table, she bent to kiss the top of his head, leaning on him, her arms about his neck and her face pressed to his temple. ‘Thank you for being here when Matt needed you,’ she remarked softly, ‘but you don’t have to stay.’ She playfully rocked him back and forth. ‘I’m sure you’d rather be with Emily.’
Surprised, he looked up, at once amazed to see how quickly she seemed recovered… the same Cathy he knew and adored, the same bright twinkling eyes and teasing manner. Relief flooded his heart. ‘Why, you scamp! What do you know about Emily, eh?’ he demanded.
‘Aha! What would you say if I told you that this very day I paid a long and interesting visit to your darling woman?’
‘You did?’ He struggled to free himself, but her arms were locked tight round his throat. ‘Why would you do that?’ He laughed, a quietly embarrassed laugh. ‘And what do you mean… my “darling woman”?’
‘I mean you’ve set your cap at her, and I’m glad.’
‘Really?’ His delight was obvious.
‘Yes, really. She’s a lovely woman, Dad, warm and sincere.’ Memories came flooding back, bad memories of the night when her mother deserted them. ‘She won’t hurt you, I’m sure.’ Suddenly she withdrew her arms from his neck and wandered to the dresser, where she absent-mindedly tapped her fingers against the telephone. ‘Where’s Matt?’ she asked again, her grey gaze drawn to the window, the image of Matt strong in her mind. She was aware that her father had turned in his chair and was closely regarding her. She did not look at him.
The Tallow Image Page 24
